November
by Catalina Day
Summary: --Circa-Season One. Now with Chapter 3!-- Something stirs within you, a familiar ache that echoes in the chambers of your heart from November of 1983.
1. November

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural; that honor belongs to one Eric Kripke. I just write random 'fan fictions' to pass the time, and because I enjoy it.

**A/N:** No idea where this came from. Just some angsty Dean junkfood for the soul. Might continue it if so inclined; it's really about whether or not I find anywhere to go with it.

**Summary:** --Circa-Season One.-- Something stirs within you, a familiar ache that echoes in the chambers of your heart from November of 1983.

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**November**

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A soft, lonely cry pierces the night air. Something stirs within you, a familiar ache that echoes in the chambers of your heart from November of 1983.

You reach the edge of the old building as the cry comes again. Looking, looking, but you can't find anything. The streetlight grows a soft, bright halo, and reflects in the wet street. Sammy is... you don't know where Sammy is, and that's a problem.

You slide down the wall, and try hard to think. There was running, and searching, and Sam had to go a different way. Then there was a metal something to the back of your head, and now you are here.

Now you can hear it again, but right next to you. An abandoned stroller, facing the other way. There's blood on the fabric. You turn it around, careful not to jostle it too much.

A sharp, pain-filled wail that you feel in your bones. You lift the baby from the desecrated stroller, cradle him in your arms.

"You're safe," you say as you wrap the blanket tighter around him. You wonder if it's true as you keep him warm through the night, waiting for a phone call from your brother.

When it comes, you almost want to cry, but you don't.


	2. Variance

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural; that honor belongs to one Eric Kripke. I just play in his sandbox from time to time, and leave it messier than when I found it. :D

**A/N:** Welcome to Part Two of this epic saga. Or something. I think just one (or two) more part(s), and it should be done. Could possibly use a better title for this 'chapter'. Feel free to drop some ideas in your review, should you choose to leave one. Thanks, and enjoy!  
Also! Thank you very much to moira4eku for the review.

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**Variance**

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The news shows no signs of a missing infant, or his murdered mother. This could become a problem.

You can't hunt like this. You can't fire a gun with a baby in your arms. You should just turn him in to a hospital, and be done with it. Leave him in the hands of people who could give him a good, normal, stable life. A life better than the one you had, than the one it hurt so much to give your brother.

But something in you tears a little, and you just don't wanna let go. His big blue eyes stare at you from where he rests in your arms, and suddenly you hate everything that you don't have as much as you love everything that you do.


	3. Hunter

**Disclaimer:** Supernatural is owned by Eric Kripke and The WB/CW. I don't own jack shit; except for my dignity, and look at how I treat _that_.

**A/N:** Part Three is here. Hooray! I've noticed that I'm starting a trend where Dean names things in my fics. Granted, this time it's not an inanimate object, but still. Plus, there's always next time...

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**Hunter**

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"I'm gonna call you... Fred." You smile. He stares at you, expression stoic and serious, from where he hangs in your arms at eye level. Four fingers of his left hand are stuck sloppily in his mouth, and he's gummin' away like nobody's business, and you still can't find it in you to give him up. So, despite Sammy's protests, you haven't yet.

You cradle him gently to your chest, feel the tiny hand scratch softly at your hair. You think of your life in snap-shot images. Your dad teaching you how to shoot for the first time; a circle of salt, with you and a six-year-old Sam in the middle, and he's holding on tight to you while you grip the shotgun in shaking hands; the mother's day card he gave you in a whirl of confusion, because 'you do what mommies do, right?'.

And you know that tomorrow, Fred will be gone. You'll have handed him over into a better life. One full of Halloweens spent trick-or-treating instead of salting doorways and waiting for his father to come home without needing stitches (let alone a fully loaded ER) this time.

When Sam shuts the door softly and doesn't look at you, you stand and walk over to him. Give him the baby. The look on your face says it all: if he stays in your arms for too long, you'll never be able to let him go. You'll become as attached to him as you are to Sammy, needing to protect him from everything. But you've learned, and you know, which is why you're doing this now: you could never protect the kid from what you are. You were never anything but a Hunter, and nobody chooses this life for themselves.


End file.
